


Sever

by tackypanda



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 09:32:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6001018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tackypanda/pseuds/tackypanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The elves of Arlathan hunted dwarves, killed their creators. Two thousand years later, Fen'harel falls in love with one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sever

**Author's Note:**

> i will sail this garbage ship on the garbage sea to garbage island
> 
> happy valentine's day hope you like bittersweetness

_In this place we prepare to hunt the pillars of the earth. Their workers scurry, witless, soulless. This death will be a mercy. We will make the earth blossom with their passing._

‘Witless, soulless’. That was all dwarves were in the time of Arlathan - what they still were when Fen’harel woke up 2,000 years later, as far as he was concerned. They feebly grasped at a legacy they didn’t even understand, the bones of an empire built on the remains of those who created them; they didn’t even know. Their stubbornness and xenophobia rivaled even his own. They were sure to be the first race to be eradicated in the chaos to come; he didn’t feel much remorse.

At least, until a _dwarf_  had to be the one to obtain the Anchor.

Sure, Leda had surprised him. Overly cautious but not blinded by pride , fascinated by magic, eager to learn, so scared of carrying the fate of the world on her broad shoulders that her misery constantly leaked between the cracks in her happy facade. She cursed at him and deemed him insufferable constantly, but still spent most of her free time with him, let him study her connection to the Fade, teach her what he knew, tell her stories of his experiences. She didn’t leave him alone unless she had to, really, and admittedly, it was nice to have someone to talk to who was genuinely interested in who he was - even if it was only parts of the truth.

No one understood their friendship, as he wasn’t shy about his negative opinion of her race. At first, she agreed with him; as a surfacer from a Carta family who preferred to raise nugs rather than eat them, her people weren’t all that fond of her and vice versa. She called him out on it eventually, however - gave him several impassioned speeches on why her people deserved to be recognized and celebrated, dragged him to Orzammar to be guests of the king, went out of her way to help surface dwarves and invite them to the Inquisition - they were lucky to have such a vocal member of their race in such a position of power.

It was hard not to listen when she spoke with such conviction, especially for someone so normally nervous and prone to deflect serious topics with horrible jokes.

He actually _reconsidered_  sometimes, when those around him began to seem less like empty shells milling about in a future that wasn’t his and more like _people_. Even those who weren’t connected to the Fade had worth - a fantastical notion, at first. That was the scariest part of it all - how could a frustrated rant about dwarven innovation spur him to such a realization?

It wasn’t hard to figure out after Leda had all but thrown herself at his old-friend-turned-pride-demon, using what she had learned and actually _retained_  from his lessons to disrupt the binding, even when she was terrified and taking the brunt of its attacks. She even let him kill the mages responsible, breathlessly stating she would have done the same. He didn’t believe her.

But she _cared_ ; she cared and he had been alone for _so long_. He nearly kissed her when he returned to Skyhold; he knew she wanted him just as much if not more, with how much she flirted and all the physical affection she showed. But he couldn’t; he had already gone too far in befriending her, befriending a dwarf, _falling for a dwarf_.

His constant refusal to take their friendship farther made her miserable, so naturally, she brought it up constantly. It would end in disaster - leading her to trust this persona he’d built, destroying her world and her people, leaving her when she depended on him. His concerns were even about _her_ over his plans! He couldn’t. He _shouldn’t_.

Her near death after their excursion in the Fade, however, was the last straw for both of them. They kissed, fell into being a couple almost too easily, and he accompanied her to the Winter Palace. A wonderful evening for him, skillfully securing the eluvians before the ball even got under way, and retiring to working up a wine buzz while amusing himself with Orlesian political intrigue. His date was _not_ having a good night. The pressure to play the Game or die had caused her to have two separate panic attacks, she nearly fell into a fountain while trying to climb up to the library, and an attempt to speak to Celene for potential leverage had only resulted in her tearfully begging to take the stuffed nugs in the trophy room back to Skyhold. At least things had ended well - the empress was still on the throne, the assassination was foiled, and Gaspard was to be executed. Yet, while he was in the mood to celebrate, he found her out on the balcony alone, sitting on the railing, staring at the ground.

“I’m not surprised to find you out here.” He emerged from the doorway and walked over to her, offering a hand to help her down. “I would advise not sitting in such a precarious position, however.”

“Eh.” She sighed, grunting as she slipped down. “If I fell, probably woulda been on something soft; a bush, maybe.”

He chuckled. “You would still have branches and thorns to contend with.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst I’ve been through tonight.” She closed the distance between them, her head falling onto his chest.

He frowned as he stroked her hair, careful not to disrupt its delicate styling. “Thoughts?”

“You know me, ‘why celebrate now if something else is gonna go wrong’ or ‘I wonder what decision I made tonight is gonna come back to bite me in the ass’.” She grasped his hand, lacing their fingers together. “What about you? How’s the wine feel?”

“I am quite sated.” He hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her head up. “And I am well, I must say. I witnessed a simple ‘Carta thug’ win over the court and the Council of Heralds. A true sight to see.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not without a lot of tears.”

“They did not suspect your fear. You kept up your facade - as you do every day, might I remind you - and Orlais has a ruler and is able to support the Inquisition. That is what matters.”

“Well, I asked the empress for that nug trophy again as her official favor before I asked her for support, so you know, we’ll see.” He merely kissed her forehead, smirking against her skin. “Didn’t look like a Carta thug tonight. Saw a pair of dwarves in the vestibule and they were shocked when they saw me. Didn’t think a dwarf could look so fancy.”

He pulled away to look at her, fingers running over the pearls adorning her hair. “You are beautiful, Leda. Always, but especially tonight.” It was a wonder that he found a woman as stout, chubby, and hairy as her - the antithesis of elven physiology - so captivating, but all she had to was speak or smile, and he knew.

“Some duke compared me to the sun - I mean, I think he did - so you’re gonna have to try harder than that,  _monsieur_.” She cringed at her terrible accent, waving it off and moving to walk away, until his grip on her hand stopped her.

“And where are you going?” He teased, bowing before her. “I believe I made a promise to you earlier.”

She broke out into a grin that threatened to split her face open. “I thought you’d be too drunk.”

"How much wine do you think I drank?”

“I dunno, you elves have such damn delicate constitutions that even a mug of ale could knock you on your asses--”

He swept her up and spun her around as she burst into laughter. Her stamina didn’t last long and she pulled away before the music even ended, but he pulled her close and they just enjoyed each others’ company for a while. That was even better.

* * *

The bliss he experienced in his short time courting her was unparalleled, which was why it couldn’t last. He left her after she made it clear she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him - he had let it go on much too long, too far, and now they both sufferd. This was for the best; even if he had the briefest, fleeting fantasies of her being at his side as he reformed the world, he had to do it alone, much less _not_ with a dwarf.

She had demanded to know if he was leaving her because of her race. Partially, he supposed, but not at all for the same, seemingly ptty reasons he had before all this happened. He hoped she would hate him, like she hated all the other people who had lied to her and left her throughout her life. But as his agents reported, she was just miserable - he was only a small part of everything that was dragging her down. Sometimes, in his lonelier moments, it made him want to reconsider again. She was so infuriatingly good at changing his mind that way.

War was coming - the meeting of the Exalted Council was impending, and so was the explosive reveal of his plans. He was hardly patient, but he managed as he spent precious peaceful moments in the Crossroads. He was drawn to a particular fresco, detailing the death of the Titans and the downfall of the ancient dwarves. It stirred deeper emotions in him now than just pride over his history and sorrow at the loss of it - now, sorrow for _their_  loss.

And when he thought back to all the art he made with the Inquisition - his frescoes in the tower, the saddle he painted for Leda’s war nug, and sketch after sketch of _her_  - he knew why.


End file.
